


The Lai of Guinevere

by aggravain, evynyx_pdf, secace



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Excessive Instrumental Use, Gawain experiences minor violence, Pastries, Quests, Sugar Free, bones - Freeform, magic rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggravain/pseuds/aggravain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/evynyx_pdf/pseuds/evynyx_pdf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/pseuds/secace
Summary: Guinevere, the Knight of the Robbery (French: Guinevere, le Chevalier de la Robberie) is a 12th-century Old French poem by the anonymous Guinevere Poet. It is one of the first stories of the Arthurian legend to feature Guinevere as a prominent character. The narrative tells about the abduction of Lancelot, and is the first text to feature a really big dog.The Guinevere Poet's writings impacted the Arthurian canon, establishing Guinevere’s subsequent prominence in English literature. She was the first writer to deal with the Arthurian themes of the lineage of dogs, their relationship to baked goods, murder and other cool shit, and the idea of gay love. The text also deals quite a bit with the Christian theme of murder.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	The Lai of Guinevere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reynier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/gifts).



> We did NOT write this it's a group translation of an obscure French text we found.

Guinevere closed her book on a bored impulse. Things were going badly in Odysseus land, which was sort of a downer, because things were going pretty well in Guinevere land and frankly she needed someone who could match her energy. She’d have to match her own energy today, but what else was new. 

Breeze swept through the blooming flora of the courtyard, people chattered here and there amongst themselves, the distant sounds of sparring clashed in the distance. It was all hideously boring. The thing about being Queen, Guinevere thought, was that you never got to do anything interesting. Everyone else was already busy doing it for you. She had the respect of a kingdom, but not in any real way. Just because they had to. Because they _wanted_ to, really. What would Camelot be without its precious Queen? They didn’t respect Guinevere at all. But they loved Arthur’s Wife. 

That was all quite dramatic though, and Guinevere thought she’d really much rather go bother someone about something. Gawain was usually good to bother, but he was off somewhere doing who knew who (she knew) and that was rather dull of him, she thought. Maybe Morgan would be a dear and mount another assassination attempt. That would be nice of her.

It didn’t seem likely-- weather wasn’t right. She had almost surrendered to the dull futility of harassing Kay when an alarm was sounded. 

“Oh my god, Guinevere there’s a dog.” Isolde was suddenly pulling on her sleeve. 

“What? Dog?” 

“Dog. Dog. Big dog. Arthur’s afraid of it. You have to see.”

This being clearly more promising than baiting Kay, Guinevere turned and followed Isolde at a brisk pace. Soon they were following the echoing sound of loud, enthusiastic, but not particularly malevolent barking. 

The source of the sound could be described with the same adjectives, Guinevere noted as they stepped from the hall onto the covered porch. Through the wide windows looking out on the inner courtyard, a very large dog was visible, as was a suddenly not very large looking Arthur and several knights frozen in consternation. 

Dinadan noticed them and played upon his lute a suitably dramatic musical sting to signal Guinevere’s arrival upon the scene. 

The dog noticed them too. It bounded away from Arthur and headed straight for Guinevere. She felt a brush of fur slinking around her hips, and a tongue excitedly lapping at her fingers. Looking down, she noticed a dog-sized sword attached to a dog-sized scabbard harnessed to its back.

A chorus of ‘Queen Guinevere!’s and ‘someone get that dog!’ came from the surrounding knights, but she waved them off. The dog looked up (though not very far up) at her. She looked down at it. After a few moments, it glanced away, accepting her as Queen Of The Dogs. 

“Uh,” Guinevere said, before the dog turned by her side to the rest of the court. It dipped in a motion she could only describe as a dog’s best attempt at a bow. 

“Dear court of noble knights, I, Sir Taua, have come in search of a brave soul who can help me honor my recently departed friend in a way befitting of them. My master was most treacherously slain by some unknown foe, and only the most noble of all would be able to withstand the horrid trails they have lain out before us.” 

The room was silent as the dog began its spiel. 

“In order to find the killer, the boldest must pass through three traps laid out by some unknown assailant.” Sir Taua lifted it’s head to scan the room. “The first, a trial of cooperative motion. The second is a horrid trail of combat where one must face off against the realm's most skilled knight. The third is unknown even to I, though I fear it’s more life threatening than the rest.” 

As the so-called court of noble knights processed the information, Guinevere smiled to herself and patted Sir Taua on the head lightly. 

“I’ll find your master’s killer, friend.” 

There was a small upset at that, but the court of Camelot did nothing but generate small upsets (occasionally interspersed with large upsets, for flavour) and weathered them all fine. She dismissed them.

Gawain tried to make a pithy comment at some point while she was stealing his armour, but she threw a large rock in the direction of his head. He immediately set to leveraging this injury for the maximum amount of attention, and while half the court was distracted with being convinced of his imminent death, Guinevere finished gathering supplies, namely one large and very bitey horse. 

“Okay, he's gone," she said to Gringolet, already leading him away from the scene. "He's gone. Can I steal you?” Gringolet opened his mouth and a low hum echoed in Guinevere’s ears. 

“Cool, thanks.” Guinevere hoisted herself up on the saddle and slid her scavenged sword and scabbard over her waist. She blew a kiss to Gawain as she rode away, trailed by Sir Taua and, to her surprise, Dinadan. 

“Oh,” she said. “Are you coming too?” 

Dinadan played a refrain on his accordion but said nothing, so Guinevere shrugged. 

“At least it’s you. You can ride on the dog I think, if he’s okay with it.” 

The dog was okay with it, and the four of them set off. 

After a few relatively calm hours of riding, Guinevere slowed Gringolet to a gentle stop before turning to Sir Taua.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve told us where these “trials” are supposed to be taking place.” 

-

“Well, _I_ heard that Sir Lamorak can’t actually do math,” said Luned, wrestling with a knot in her embroidery. “I heard he couldn’t solve a cat puzzle.”

“I don’t even know who that is,” said Mevanwi. 

“Do you have any children?” Luned asked.

“No?”

“Then you wouldn’t, no.” 

Clarissant spoke up. “Lynette says she saw Sir Lamorak fall off his horse.”

Lynette nodded. “That was so humiliating for him. Really funny for Lynette though.”

“Oh!” said Mevanwi with a small degree of alarm, because she’d thought the speaker was Lynette and was concerned with the prospect she may not be. It was far too deep into the conversation to inquire. She stabbed delicately at the silk spread out in her lap, resolving to ask Clarissant later. 

Mevanwi and Clarrisant were quite close. Living briefly in the woods together in your formative years will do that, she supposed. They looked after each other, but because Clarrisant was five months older she was the one who got to legally adopt Mevanwi at 16. As soon as they had gotten out of the woods, that is. 

Now they just lived at Camelot, which Mevanwi somehow found to feel less safe and secure than the woods were. Sure there were less wild animals(not counting the recent scourge of wild boar and that one big dog Guinevere left with), and less random patches of poisonous bush, but it had other things worth worrying about. For example, sometimes people were mean, and Mevanwi didn’t care for that at all. 

It would all be quite a tedious affair if it weren’t for the twice-weekly sewing circle Clarrisant had introduced her to. Lynette baffled her, but she was entertaining, and Luned seemed to brighten the place just by being there. One of them or the next always had some new story to tell, and Mevanwi barely cared if they were true or not. Luned tended to make things up for fun. Lynette tended to withhold real things for fun. 

This was an important distinction, which Mevanwi had recorded dutifully in her mental diary. She had a page for every person she met at court. She flipped to a new page as her hands absently brought a little bluebird to life on the pale lavender silk. At the top of the page she wrote “Lamorak” and under it, in smaller letters, “fell off a horse.”

The afternoon continued on, the bluebird turning out very nicely, if nothing else did. Court gossip was terribly intimidating. 

-

“I don’t think I can jump over that, Taua.” 

“It’s _Sir_ Taua. And you don’t need to.” The dog lifted a paw(it almost reached Guinevere’s head) and gestured out to the field in front of them. There were several fences of varying heights crafted out of what looked like bones, even a tunnel burrowing briefly underground and back up. “You just need to help _me_ jump over it.”

“That’s the trial of cooperative motion? That’s it?” Guinevere looked skeptical. 

Sir Taua huffed. “I don’t have time for this. We’re meant to be solving a murder, you know.”

“How will this,” Guinevere points at a bridge suspended over nothing, “help solve a murder?”

“Trust the mysterious nature of the trials, noble Guinevere, for they-”

“Don’t quest-talk me.”

“Fine.” Sir Taua shook Dinadan off his back, resulting in one sudden whine from a tuba that had suddenly appeared in his arsenal. “Lead me over the fences first.” 

She could have asked why exactly a sentient, talking dog needed to be guided through obstacles, but if she’d learned anything from sort of half paying attention to Gawain recounting his chivalric oeuvre, it was to not question things. 

“Dinadan, play something suitably dramatic.” She didn’t turn to see if he was listening to her, or if he had even gotten up from the ground. But as she walked over to meet Taua at what must have been the beginning of the course, a tense instrumental violin piece started up. 

Guinevere knelt. She’d seen people do this before running, it seemed suitable. 

“Hey are these human?” She asked Sir Taua, inspecting the bone fences. 

Sir Taua shrugged, in a dog way. “I’d worry more about whether or not they want yours to add to the course.”

“Wait, what?” 

“Let’s go!”

Taua shot off into the course with a violent start, as a sudden piercing whistle split the air. Guinevere had no time to wonder at its origin, and could only set off after the horse sized canine, currently making his way to a tunnel. 

Just before the tunnel a relatively low bone fence stood, looking at once ominous and hungry. Guinevere grimaced, then glanced at Sir Taua. He was bounding towards it with no signs of stopping or evading crashing into it. 

“Uh… jump?” Guinevere called to him, trying desperately to keep up with the dog’s speed. 

Sir Taua obliged and in an instant was over the fence and into the tunnel, whipping through so fast she could hardly blink before he emerged on the other side. 

“Excellent,” he said in a flat tone, focused on the next obstacle. 

Guinevere cheered. Taua swerved towards a wiggly weavy thing made of femurs and did a wiggly weaving thing through them at seemingly impossible speed, shooting out and onto the next obstacle so quickly his black and white fur seemed to merge into one grey blur.

It was all she could do to keep up as he made several more jumps, out of breath as he reached a teeter totter type construction. Leaping over a stack of human heads, Taua placed all four palm sized feet on the low end of it. 

It made a dull rattle on impact, threatening to give as long dead remains shuddered under the weight of an improbably large dog. But after a breathless moment it held, and Taua made his way up the ramp which tipped inexorably forward in a delicate act of balance.

“Uh, you can do it,” Guinevere offered, a little out of breath and unsure of her role here. This would probably help. 

Taua trotted neatly off the skull ramp and gave a dog smile at her. “Thank you.” 

They were approaching a hoop next, a very large and very heavy looking hoop. As they got closer, the bone makeup of this obstacle became clear. Guinevere wondered if creatures that big even existed anymore, and how badly they had lost the obstacle course to have their ribs suspended in the field. 

Taua careened towards the hanging hoop before them, crouching low as he approached. “Jump!” Guinevere was helping. Taua flung himself into the air and deftly slid through the huge horrendous hoop, landing softly on the other side. 

Taua didn’t celebrate for a second, darting back around to the jumps and taking them again, reaching up to twelve feet in the air and landing in the dirt like a meteor hitting earth. 

“Great!” Guinevere was exhausted from running but wouldn’t stop for the world. She needed to bring her and Sir Taua to the end of the trial, and she was having fun now. It felt like she was moving in sync with her companion, breathing when he did, running where he went. “Turn!” 

She brought them around a corner, approaching three fences increasing in height. “Here we go, Sir Taua,” she called to the dog. “Jump!” One bone fence was crossed. Then two. And in one impossibly elegant leap, Sir Taua conquered the third and highest. 

The bones collapsed. Guinevere laughed, giddy from the rush. Sir Taua rounded the corner and turned back to her, leaping up and almost knocking her down. 

“You did it!” Guinevere said, still smiling despite herself. 

Sir Taua circled her, still working off post-trial energy. “With your assistance, Sir Guinevere.” He bowed to her. “You’ve proven yourself brave and capable in this trial, I thank you for your assistance.” 

“Oh, of course, but I’m not-” She was interrupted when the bones began to shudder. “Uh.” Guinevere pointed. “Bones?”

“Oh,” said Sir Taua. “Bones.” 

Bits and pieces from across the field began to slowly move towards each other. A clavicle here reached towards a scapula, a skull towards a spare tibia. Guinevere and Sir Taua stood in shock, still panting, as the course they had just completed swarmed around them. They stopped in front of the two companions briefly, considering. Observing. 

As they crept up and up and up, Guinevere realized what was happening. In a moment, she was staring face to face with herself. There was a Sir Taua replica too, right next to her. She gazed into a mirror of herself crafted from scattered remains, and could not place the kinship she felt. Guinevere hardly breathed, afraid to dismantle her own body looking back at her. 

The skeletons(but not quite skeletons, there was form to them too) knelt in the ground before their living counterparts. Guinevere’s double kept her gaze as she lowered. She reached, slowly into her mouth, and pulled out an intricate silver ring. The sound it made against the bone hand made Guinevere wonder in the back of her mind if she was dying. 

The other Guinevere presented her gift in a palm. She made a motion like she wanted to speak, but the only sound was the whistle of wind through bone. Guinevere took the ring with care. 

“Thank you,” she said, softly. 

The other Guinevere and the other Sir Taua nodded at her, and just as casually dissolved in the air. 

“Congratulations,” said Sir Taua at her side. It startled Guinevere out of her trance. “You’ve completed the first trial.”

The breeze was cool as they walked back to Gringolet and Dinadan. Dinadan, upon seeing their approach, began to play a jaunty victory tune on a penny whistle he’d pulled from his coat. 

“Well, we finished that one, I guess,” Guinevere said. “As you probably saw.” She looked back at the now empty field. “And look, we got this!”

Gringolet sniffed at the ring in her palm. It was a beautiful ornate piece, inlaid with lines of red and pearl. In Guinevere’s hand it felt warm, hot to the touch even, and it had a sense of density that seemed impossible for such a small object. 

“You like it?” Guinevere asked the horse skeptically. “I’m getting sketchy vibes to be honest.”

He made a horse noise that probably indicated something. She shrugged. “Great, you can carry it then.”

The horse-shaped thing made no move of resistance as she braided the ring into long blackish red hair. It shone brightly against the dark locks of mane, glinting in the sun. 

“Hot!” said Dinadan. 

Guinevere frowned. “Hush, clown.” 

He played a sad banjo chord.

-

“So, care to recount the famous mantle story to us?” Asked Sebile with a smile sharp enough to slice bread. This made Mevanwi think of toast, and breakfast, which she was trying to go to when she found herself swept into the solar and surrounded by well dressed ladies with verbal bread knives. 

“Sebile,” she tested, lingering on the ‘ile’. “Lovely to see you here, I was certain you were too busy kidnapping knights to say hello.” 

“That’s just a hobby,” Sebile said, waving a hand. “And it’s off-season. Someone else took Lancelot already so I don’t have the shift for at least another year.” 

“Oh!” Mevanwi said with some concern, wondering if maybe someone should be informed of this situation. She glanced to both sides at the other ladies, who seemed distinctly not alarmed. “That’s nice?” 

“It is, thank you.” Sebile sighed and leaned on the table next to her. “Means I have more time to bother everyone here at court.” She slid her eyes to meet Mevanwi’s. “Did you miss me?”

Not particularly, she didn’t know Sebile that well and found her mostly odd and threatening. And she objected to kidnapping on principle due to once having been kidnapped. But of course that wasn’t polite. “Yes?”

“Oh, well,” Sebile didn’t look like she knew what to do with that. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Of course!” said Mevanwi, nodding. “Hm. May I go now?” She was still surrounded by Sebile and a handful of other slightly-nefarious looking women. It made her feel a bit claustrophobic, honestly. If Sebile wanted to be friends she could just ask. But she hadn’t asked. She had committed threatening breakfast separation.

Sebile blinked, face flashing between annoyance and confusion a few times before landing on an attempt at suave. “You so hate our company, Lady Mevanwi?” 

“No, of course I don’t,” Mevanwi gave a sympathetic head tilt in return. “I just really would like to eat breakfast, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing else you want to eat?”

There seemed to be some meaning to this, but Mevanwi had no desire to puzzle over it. “No thank you, I’d just like some toast actually.” 

Sebile was now visibly frustrated. “You-” she started, before huffing and turning away from Mevanwi. “Fine. Just get your toast, my lady.” 

“You know, if you haven’t eaten yet I’m sure there’s enough-”

“I only eat the blood of orphans, don’t you know?”

Mevanwi found this incredibly distasteful, but Sebile had let her pass, so she bid her a good day and retrieved her breakfast. 

-

“ <3 help me” Guinevere said, reading off the sign. It was carved into a human skull and mounted on a post. “That’s ominous. Everything out here is very ominous. And tacky. If they hired me I could get this whole wasteland in working order.” 

Dinadan played a quizzical note on a set of pan flutes as if to question her wasteland decor skills. She ignored him. 

“What do you think it means?” she asked no one in particular. 

“Help me <3” said a voice from behind her. 

“How did you make that noise with your mouth?” asked Sir Taua as Guinevere whipped around to find the source. 

Once she’d located the voice she sighed. “Oh, it’s just Priamus. Hi Priamus.” 

“Oh, hi Guinevere.” Priamus was on the ground. “Can you help me <3.” 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to overdo it on the good-doing, you know?” 

“I need to win against Gawain.”

“Oh hell yeah, why didn’t you say so?” Guinevere hopped off of Gringolet and kneeled where Priamus was laying. 

“Why are you wearing armor?” he asked. 

“I’m on a quest. Why are you on the ground?” 

“I got tired.” Priamus pushed himself up to face Guinevere. “I’ve been out all night trying to sell my wares, but no one appreciates my fruit based sugar free baked goods :(“

Guinevere looked behind him. Sure enough, there were piles of cookies and breads and jams and other things that might have fruit but not sugar in them. It looked like they’d barely been touched. 

“Wait,” she said. “How are you going to win against Gawain with these?” 

“He’s on the other side of the wastelands,” said Priamus, gazing with contempt. “Selling his own wares. With fake sugar. Is that Gringolet?” 

“No that’s Dinadan.”

“I meant the horse.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She stalked over to the display and gave it a good once over. “I thought Gawain had a concussion.” Which meant, _I distinctly remember giving Gawain a concussion_. 

“He decided to get better when everyone started paying attention to Mevanwi instead,” Priamus explained, rolling over and propping himself up on an elbow like a Roman noble in repose at a feast.

“Mevanwi is far cooler than Gawain though, he has to know that.” 

Everyone at court was a big fan of Gawain being slutty, but Mevanwi was _not_ slutty, and that was new and intriguing. 

“Of course he knows, but it irritates him when people stop paying attention to him. Catboy moment.” 

“Right. Catboy moment.” Guinevere didn’t know what a catboy was, and she didn’t quite care enough to ask, so she filed it away under ‘things to bully Gawain about later’. 

“Anyways,” Priamus continued. “Will you buy my wares?”

Guinevere hummed in faux contemplation. “I need to try a free sample, first.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “Alright.”

She took a sugar free cookie with what seemed to be raspberry filling. She took a bite and found that contrary to colour, it was lemon. “Alright. This is decent but I need to sample all the other varieties, as well, if I’m going to sponsor this product.”

“What?!”  
She made a broad gesture, then took three or four other baked goods taking one bite of each. “I can’t endorse something to my loyal subjects if I can’t speak to the quality.”

She took a whole handful of sugar free ginger snaps and threw them at Gringolet, who caught them in midair as easily as he brought down songbirds. Taua received about a dozen sugar free blueberry muffins. Even Dinadan was generously allowed to steal food from an increasingly worried Priamus. 

“Hm.” Guinevere chewed around the word. “I don’t know, I don’t think they’re quite up to my standards.” 

Priamus looked near tears. “Please I need this. Gawain won’t believe me if I say you just took all of them.” 

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll tell him.” She cast a look over the wastelands as if she could pinpoint his location then and there. (Priamus wasn’t sure she couldn’t). “Anyways, good effort buddy.” 

Priamus looked on helplessly as his last sugar free banana bread was taken from him. Guinevere mounted Gringolet and shoved the baked goods in the pack on his saddle. 

Dinadan composed upon the spot a mocking little ditty, which he performed on the harpsichord as they rode off. 

“The next trial will involve physical strength and also a willingness to kill, which many--”

“Oh, no, I’ve got that under lock,” Guinevere reassured him. “I’ve super got that one.”

“Oh. Okay.” He regathered his thoughts. “Well, this one is mostly you, I have to stay out here. Do you have everything? Sword? Shield? Ring? A snack?”

“I’ll be fine, Sir Taua.” Guinevere unbraided the ring from Gringolet’s mane to the sounds of a slightly disgruntled horse. “Oh, don’t be bratty, I’ll give it back later.”

Guinevere slid the ring onto her right hand and reeled. It felt heavy on her finger, but not enough to bog her down. She had always had strong hands. In the reflection of her sword she saw her eyes slit. 

“Holy shit, Taua,” she said. “What the hell is this thing?” She ran her tongue over her teeth. It caught on her canine and a bead of blood welled in her mouth. 

“It’s been called by many names, Sir Guinevere,” Taua said, “But my companion and I knew it as The Ring of Many Teeth. A rare hunting tool. The effects can be a bit distu-”

“Hot,” she interrupted. 

“Ah. Well, okay.” He shrugged as best as a dog could. “Hot.” 

They travelled on a ways, to the edge of a wide open field where Taua nodded, and told her to stop. “Your enemy is trapped here, waiting unknowing for you to arrive.”

When Guinevere saw him, she almost laughed out loud. Wandering around the woods, looking vaguely lost and frustrated, was Sir Eric. Really, she thought, was this really the best they could do? She supposed Gawain and Lancelot were indisposed. And every other knight, apparently.

Dinadan started up what she assumed was dramatic fighting music, the effect of which was hampered by it being played on a ukulele. 

Generally, Guinevere remembered, this was the juncture at which a noble knight might call out to a prospective opponent, so they could arrange themselves accordingly and run towards each other with large sticks.

Deciding to forego this, Guinevere stalked out onto the field, sword drawn, noting the distance between Eric and his horse was less that the distance between Eric and her. 

It was then that he noticed her, turning and moving from befuddlement to patronizing amusement. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it at something sharp in her expression.

“I’m going to give you a chance to surrender,” Guinevere said, upon approach, knowing he wouldn’t take it. She wouldn’t offer if she thought he would.

He shook his head, tried to look amused and mostly fell into unpleasantness. 

Without warning she swung, sword sliding from a dart to the left which knocked his own half drawn blade aside, into an underhand upstroke which he just managed to deflect, shield skittering into place with the sound of grating metal. She took a quick step back to dodge the sword he managed to draw slicing across where her midriff had been, struck downwards at his clutching hand before he could try again.

He tilted the blade so to slide hers off, barely missing his gauntleted fist below the crossguard. She recovered, moved into a guard with firmly planted feet to resist the shuddering strength behind his blow that set her arms aching. Disregarding, she flicked up, so his arm was raised, shield protecting his side rather than suddenly exposed stomach, which she swung across. 

The blade cut through hauberk and chain like it were water, leaving a bloody wake in its path as skin and muscle split. Eric took a stumbling step back, but the blood was oozing, not spraying, too shallow a wound, apparently, to end the fight, and now he had a wild look in his eyes. 

Guinevere had a distant thought that it might be pleasant to rip his throat out with her teeth. That likely wasn’t chivalrous.

It wasn’t chivalrous, either, for her not to give him a moment to recover himself, but nevertheless her sword had tasted victory and she would not forebear. Without a shield, she needed to stay on attack anyway. So she lunged forward to strike three blows in rapid succession, all narrowly parried or blocked with an increasingly battered shield. 

Eric hissed as he stumbled back, battered chain smacking against his open wound. Their swords were met between them, shaking with mutual pressure and fervor. Eric slid his blade down Guinevere’s, tarnished steel screeching against tarnished steel. He somehow managed to free himself from their stalemate for a moment, just enough to attempt to strike her over the head. 

It was a stupid play, he was too desperate to be subtle or clever anymore. Guinevere knocked his sword with her own and it sent him tripping backwards, scrambling for a suddenly missing hilt in his hands. She laughed a little, and stepped on his sword arm carefully, pinning him to the ground. 

She swung her sword across his neck like a pendulum, barely scraping the skin and leaving the faintest red trail. He might have taken this moment to beg for her mercy. He didn’t, only glowering up at her with malice and disgust. Guinevere spit blood down at him. 

“You could have at least put up a fight,” she said, tracing his face with the tip of her blade. Eric twitched against it and grabbed for his hilt behind him. 

Guinevere’s sword was through his hand so fast he didn’t feel it at first. And then, as she pulled it back out, he did. 

Eric sucked in a haggard breath and screamed. He turned his eyes to Guinevere and tried to speak. “You-” 

She shook her head. “No.” Guinevere sunk the blade through his open mouth, slotting between two rows of teeth and diving into the blood soaked soil below his now bisected neck. He choked, bit wildly and weakly at the sword once, twice, blood cascading in globs from over his lips as he gagged on cold steel. 

She slowly knelt, hands still gripping the hilt, over his writhing body. She wanted to feel the life fall from him. See it in his eyes. Guinevere carefully took one hand from her sword to grip his face, force his gaze on hers. 

Twisting the blade ever so slightly, she saw him choke once more before his body went limp. She let out a shuddering, breathy laugh. Guinevere lowered her teeth and decided to indulge her earlier thoughts. 

A cheer from the trees rang in her ears and she lifted her head from the body, blood spilling from her mouth. She was expecting it to be Sir Taua, or Dinadan maybe, even Priamus if he’d followed them, but the face she saw was none of her previous companions. Enide stared back at her, a wild, uncontrollable smile reaching across her face. 

“Enide.” 

“Guinevere.” 

Guinevere looked down at Eric and then back at Enide. “I’m-” she paused again. It was hard to speak, she found. Killing someone left her… well it certainly left her something. “I’m covered in your husband’s blood.”

Enide sounded breathless when she answered. “Uh huh.” 

“Sorry about that.” She should probably get off of Eric’s corpse, Guinevere thought. It seemed rude to be perched on the dead body of the husband of the woman standing in front of you. 

Enide shook her head. “Why?” 

“What?”

“Why are you sorry?” She looked genuinely confused at the concept. 

“Uh.” Guinevere considered this as she finally lifted herself from the ground. “I’m not, actually. Common courtesy, I suppose.” 

Enide laughed, a bubble of surprise lilting out of her. “Common courtesy. You just shoved a 70 cm long sword down Sir Eric’s throat. Not that I’m complaining,” she explained quickly, taking a step towards Guinevere. “I think that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Guinevere hummed at that, not knowing how to respond. She was vaguely aware of smiling through the blood stained teeth. Looking at Enide, Guinevere thought she might like to kiss her then. Enide got there first. 

Guinevere tangled her hands — covered in viscera she was realizing, but it didn’t seem like Enide minded — over Enide’s back and through her hair, soaking her in. Enide had caught her by the back of her neck and was brushing a thumb behind her ear. Guinevere shuddered into the touch. 

There was something to be said, she thought, for the taste of still warm blood shared on someone else’s tongue. It only made her feel dizzier than the kill had left her. She far preferred Enide’s heartbeat in her hands to Eric’s. 

Through some order of pressing and following and stumbling Guinevere had pinned Enide to a nearby tree and was finding her way along her collarbones, up her neck, over her mouth, until they were eye to eye. The sun was setting, an orange hue filtering through the trees on Enide’s face. The air was cool, but for the space between them. 

“Well,” Guinevere exhaled. “I should probably… be off… doing quest things.” She took a half-step back, just enough to upin Enide. “The dog and the horse are probably waiting for me.” 

“But you’re finished with the quest,” said Enide, her eyes still smooth and half lidded.

Guinevere gave her an inquisitive look. “No, there’s still one more trial.”

“Ah,” Enide glanced to the side. “Right, the thing is actually you’ve just done the third trial. Passed with flying colours actually.” 

“But Eric was…” she looked at the body, then back at Enide. “Oh. Well then.” A smile crept over her still-bloodied face. “Are you friends with Taua too?” 

“In a sense.” Enide shrugged. “I met him on the road some ways back. He just wanted to do the whole cooperative motion trial with the ring to avenge his friend, but I also wanted my husband dead at the time, so we worked together.” She smirked. “Two birds with one stone.”

“And you just happened to know I would be the stone.”

“Well, I had a good enough guess,” Enide said. “You’re always talking about how bored you are over there.” 

“Well, you’re always welcome to make it less boring,” Guinevere offered. 

At that Sir Taua bounded from the trees into the clearing. He dropped his head to the ground and began to sniff at the dirt for a few seconds before plodding off to a little mound a ways away from the viscera. 

“Hello, Sir Taua,” Enide and Guinevere said in unison, still inches away from each other. It was rude of him to intrude, Guinevere thought, he could have at least knocked. 

Sir Taua ignored them and wagged his tail. He suddenly started digging erratically in the dirt below them. Guinevere walked over as he worked to inspect his workmanship, pulling away as Taua turned suddenly, a bright sparkling ring held in his mouth.

“Fer yew.” he said around the ring.

Guinevere stretched out a hand and took it, still slightly slobbery. 

“We already did this one,” she said, pinching the ring between her fingers. She waved her hand at Taua, displaying the Ring of Many Teeth. 

Taua shook his head. “No, this is a new one. Quests work mainly on a ring-based economy.” Dinadan played a short note on his slide-whistle in agreement. She shrugged. “Alright. Good news, Gringolet,” she tugged the teeth ring off slightly reluctantly and put on the new one. “We match.”

Gringolet happily accepted the adornment with the teeth ring (Briefly, Guinevere wondered if it would affect his behaviour at all, before realizing that was Gawain’s problem and she didn’t care). 

Gringolet huffed as if in agreement, and Guinevere hitched a leg over him. 

“You going my way?” She asked Enide, holding a hand to help her up. 

Enide grinned and took it, hoisting herself behind Guinevere on Gringolet’s back.The trials were complete, but there was a vague feeling that something remained unfinished. Besides, it was a nice day for a ride. 

They met Gawain exactly where Priamus said he would be. Lingering at his table was another, who Guinevere recognized quickly as Mevanwi and waved a hello towards. 

“Guinevere! Enide!” Mevanwi smiled at them, holding an armful of Gawain’s sugar-free baked goods. “So nice to see you here, I was just leaving! You should try these, they’re quite good.” 

“Oh, for you, anything,” Guinevere smiled, reaching for a cannoli on the table without the intention to pay, much to the chagrin of the one running it, “how’d you end up out here in the middle of a baked-good-war anyways?” 

“You know,” Mevanwi shrugged good naturedly, “Camelot’s energy isn’t really compatible with mine right now, so I’ve decided to return to the woods. I have a cottage!” 

“That’s very nice,” said Guinevere, who did think it was rather nice, because she liked Mevanwi and had been regretting the necessity of destroying her to maintain social power in Camelot. 

“Thank you, Guinevere.” Mevanwi looked genuinely touched. “I’ll miss you, but you’re always welcome to visit me here.” She looked on the rest on their group, noticing Dinadan for the first time. “All of you.”

After a short goodbye melody on the bass, she headed off, sweets in hand. Gawain heelied himself out from behind the table to lean on it annoyingly and oh so gayly. He shared a knowing nod with Gringolet before turning, gayly, to Guinevere. 

“Hello, whore,” she said, dragging her gaze to him. “I’ve come to thieve. What’s with the shoes?”

“Well you took my horse, so I had to improvise. They’re Custom Made Italian Leather Oxford Heelies.” 

“Disgusting,” she took a petit four. “I’ve been more productive than you today.” She winked at Enide.

Gawain shrugged, and motioned to the baked goods in front of him before taking a step, heelie to the floor. Guinevere deftly kicked his foot before it landed, sending him toppling into the table. Gringolet reached over for a bite, followed by Taua, Enide and Dinadan, helping to clean up the carnage. 

He complained homosexually at her for a bit but failed to dredge up any real resentment. “I was like, five minutes away from giving up and eating this myself. I’m pretty sure Priamus did equally bad,” he said hopefully.

“Look,” Guinevere deftly selected a gingersnap. “You’ll like this. I got a shiny thing.” 

She waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention, splattering small specks of blood onto the cream frosting littering his hair before holding it out steadily. The ring, once pristine and shining now oozed a faint trickle of blood out from under it, smearing her hand with red. 

Dinadan honked his clown nose ominously. Taua dog shrugged. Enide took a bite of a blueberry muffin and looked on curiously.

Gawain looked at Guinevere and smirked as one about to be savagely mauled to death. “Sexy ring.”

**Author's Note:**

> Val: hi :val's_ape_waving_emoji:
> 
> Lou: <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 hi ily clocktower club will kill all stem bros <3
> 
> Ev: ily so fucking much i hope you've enjoyed this segment. happy late birthday <3 *does a little clown dance*


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